


DSMP Traitor AU's

by theplanetmarz



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bees, Betrayal, Bugs & Insects, Crying, Gen, Loneliness, Pogtopia, Regret, Self-Reflection, Temporary Character Death, Traitor Toby Smith | Tubbo, Video Game Mechanics, Vomiting, l'manberg, l'manburg, traitor au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26672863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplanetmarz/pseuds/theplanetmarz
Summary: a series of multiple lil stories i wrote about different scenarios of "traitor" characters-very slow/rare updates
Relationships: Eret & Floris | Fundy, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, dont ship real people without their permission, dream - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 154





	1. all come down [Fundy]

“Remember boys,” Wilbur stands atop the rundown caravan, “If they hit you, and you go down, stay and defend the beds, if even one of us gets voided, it’s over for all of us. Got it?” 

Fundy shudders for a moment, just a brief mishap of the brain, then nods and agrees with the rest of his troops. Seedlings of regret for his plans still swim in his brain, but not enough to get him to turn back now. He’d just have to water them down with lava, push through, crush the opposition. 

The shiver, he had to admit he knew the reason it came over him, the underlying, slowly bubbling to the surface, guilt of his future plan, which had now become his present plan.

“Alright,” Wilbur points to Tommy and Tubbo, “You two, stations now, they’ll be here any second. Eret you’re with me and Fundy.”

Fundy grabs Tommy’s shoulder as he walks past, stopping him, Tubbo, naturally waiting for Tommy, stops too. 

The ginger tilts his head to Wilbur, “Wil, I have a better plan.”

“Fundy,” Wilbur rubs his forehead frustratedly, probably another stress headache coming on, before slipping down from the caravan, “Now isn’t the time for a last minute change, son.” 

_Son_. 

“T-Trust me! Do you really think this plan is going to be any different for the last few? Tommy’s just going to get killed again and be out of commission for another three days-”

“Hey!” 

“No offence, Tommy. But what I’m saying, Wilbur, is my ‘last minute change’ could help us, well, actually win.” 

Wilbur stared, vapid expression still painted on his tired face. He crosses his arms, tapping the toe of his boot impatiently. “Why didn’t you bring this plan up during any of the meetings?” 

“Look, I’ll be honest, I didn’t think we’d need it, but, after our last fight...I mean Wilbur, your scar, Tubbo and Tommy’s death-do we really want to go through a loss that big again? They’ve probably just become stronger since we last fought them, we need to catch them by surprise.” 

Wilbur lightly brushed his fingers over the scar that stretched across the bridge of his nose down to the lower half of his cheek. 

Fundy was sweating, getting impatient. _They’re waiting on him. If he’s late this all goes to shit._

“What’s your plan, kiddo?” 

_Kiddo._

“It’s- well, let me just show you.” Fundy turns, beckoning with his hand for the group to follow. He takes charge, leading his team away from their meeting van. He leads them along the towering masses of black stone wall, before finding his hill. 

Fundy quickly began digging, bare hands throwing dirt behind him. Eret joins in, finishing off the hole in the hill for Fundy. 

Another tang of premature regret shot through Fundy's chest. 

Shaking it off, he takes charge again, being the first to enter the tunnel that lay in the side of the hill. 

Hushed gasps sounded behind him, Tubbo being impressed by the handiwork of the lights in the tunnel, and Eret clearly confused. 

"I've been working very, very hard to assemble this." 

"Fundy, what is this?" Wilbur's questioning voice quickly subsided as he realized just how long this tunnel was. Surely they were out of L'Manberg borders by now. 

Finally, the group made it to the end. 

Fundy's palms were sweating, chest shuttering. The tunnel opened up into a small room, chests lining the walls, all their names written on each of them. 

"Fundy, were you farming supplies for us?" Tubbos voice was sickly sweet, only in the sickly department as Fundy hated his kindness in the moment. His throat was sealed shut, desert dry. 

He couldn't answer the boy.

Everyone separated to their individual chests, Fundy's own was at the farthest back of the room, a lone gray button sat on a pedestal in front of it. 

An oaken chest creaked as someone opened it, "They're empty." 

Wilbur turned to look at Fundy.

His hand hovered over the button, as he was now positioned behind it. 

"Don't call me son." 

Wilbur's eyes widened, horror dawning over him, as he was quickly obscured from Fundy's vision.

The click of the button was deafened by the screams and shifting mechanics in the walls. 

Everything slowed down for Fundy. 

Through the newly revealed secret entrances, heavily armoured and well weaponized men fly into the room; Dream, Sapnap, George and Punz. 

Dream’s hand shoves Fundy backwards, slamming him against his chest, causing him to stumble and fall against the wall.

Fundy sat on the ground, watching the scramble of boots and blood before him. 

Two screams he could identify perfectly were Tubbo and Wilbur.

Tubbo’s shrieks were wet, laced with tears and grime. He wanted to live, he always acted like every battle would be his last, like one hit and he’d die and never come back. And he wasn’t very good with a sword. 

Wilbur’s and Eret’s yowls blended together often, it’s a sound Fundy was used to, from many past battles, but something different stood out, Wilbur’s was more pronounced than usual, more

_anguished._

He couldn’t properly decipher many words in the scuffle, George was probably yelling at him to get out, but that was drowned out by Wilbur’s wailing _“WHY”_ s . 

He’s destroying his throat. 

The ginger has never seen Wilbur this way; his father had always been calm, collected, even in heavily emotional situations, but something had broken inside. 

Another twist comes through Fundy’s body as he watches Punz shove a sword deep into Eret’s chest, a river of blood immediately gushing from the brunet’s mouth. 

He folds like paper, dust rising as he hits the ground. 

He’s immediately grabbed by Tommy, the blond kid is gawkily trying to drag Eret out of the death trap. 

The rest is a blur. Flashing colours, more screaming; Fundy’s brain blocks it all out somehow. 

He comes to in the DreamSMP base. He’s sitting, hunched over. 

Everything fills his head at once: regret, pride, despair, everything. 

Adrenaline is still coursing through his skull, as well a throbbing pain. 

_He did it. He actually did it._

_He betrayed L'Manberg. He was part of the DreamSMP now._

_He couldn't go back. Even if he wanted too._

Oh God, he can't go back. 

“I’m gonna throw up.” he chokes out. He isn’t aware of anyone else in the room. There’s an iron bucket beneath his head as he opens his mouth, expelling his lunch. A cold hand pats the back of his head, running through his hair. 

Wilbur does that, did that, but this isn’t the same. There’s no love behind the action. 

“If you need to throw up again,” George takes the bucket away, “I’ve got a few nausea potions.” 

Shit joke. It doesn't land. 

Fundy groans in response.

“Where are we?”

Dream removes his _comforting_ hand from the back of Fundy’s head, and slinks around to sit in front of him. “We’re in your room Fundy, you’re sitting on your bed.” 

Fundy moans again, tipping his head backwards, mouth hanging open. A sharp pain ruptures through his head. He snaps back down, eyes focused and staring at Dream. 

_Dream slapped him._

“Good, you’re back. Wilbur hit you pretty hard back there.” 

“Wilbur... _hit me?”_

“Yup,” Dream leans back in his chair, letting it tip onto it’s back legs. He throws his boots up onto Fundy’s bed, “Sword hilt right to the side of your head.”

Fundy’s eyes track over to George, he’s the teller when Dream’s lying. He nods. 

“Some dad, huh?” 

“He’s not my father.” 

Dream hums, “Well I mean, not biologically but adopted-” 

_“He isn’t my father!”_ the man gripped his bedsheets, nails nearly ripping through the thin fabric. 

“Alright! Alright. I got it.” Dream claps, “How ‘bout we get that raggedy thing off of you?” He gestures to Fundy’s outfit. 

“I-” His L’Manburg uniform. He made it himself, hence the off colour baby blue and buttercup shoulderpads. It looks like a toddler made it, probably partially why Wilbur babied him for it. “Isn’t it...fine? I mean-uh-it's just a little dirty.”

Fundy can’t see Dreams face, but he’s sure he’s smirking at the shitty excuse. 

He glides up from his chair, gracefully moving the chair with one shove to the corner of the room. 

“George can get you something much better, cleaner and less...childish.” 

At this point he can hear Dream’s smile. 

_Childish_. 

The word makes his gut squirm. 

Wilbur never called him 'childish'. He treated him that way though, but he wouldn't call him 'childish' to his face.

He babied him, coddled him and annoyed him until no end, but he never insulted him like that. 

But that’s what he is, isn’t it? He’s childish, acting like a schoolboy, emotional attachment to fabric. 

“What are my options?” 

Dream turns his head to George. 

“I’ve got a trench coat and some armour if you’ll take it.” George smiled. His glasses obscured his eyes, giving Fundy no tell whether this was a malicious or genuine grin. 

“I’ll take it.” 

“Welcome to the DreamSMP, Fundy.” 


	2. killer [Wilbur]

_ I hate my work, but I’m in control _

“Wilbur!” Tommy screams. 

_ I’m fearless now, but it cost my soul  _

Wilbur, lighter limply in hand, as he perches himself on the ledge of the tower.

TommyInnit; the last of Pogtopia, stands, staring at the man he once called a friend. 

_ Once called a brother.  _

Now he points a diamond sword at him.

_ Oh, save yourselves, the moon is full  _

_ Under it’s power, gravitational pull _

Schlatt’s orotund announcement echoes from the presentation stage below. “I’d like to welcome my right hand man, Tubbo, to the stand now!” 

Cheers and claps of mindless sheep follow in response. 

Wilbur flicks his lighter open. 

_ Blood red lips, they shake like leaves _

_ You're flesh and blood, but what's underneath?  _

“Wilbur, this isn't the right thing to do!” Tommy’s ringing tone simply grates Wilbur, rather than deterring him from his decision. 

_ Don’t turn out the lights, kiss yourself goodnight  _

“Tommy,” Wilbur luls his head back lazily, clicking the lighter on and off, “You have no power here.” 

_ ‘Cause there’s a killer, and he’s coming after you  _

“I know I don’t, but neither do you, you’re not the president anymore.” 

Wilbur hums, staring back down at the festival. That statement should’ve cut deep, and it would’ve, if he felt anything other than a deeply seething apathy. 

“We’re even, dare I say, equal, for once.” 

Tommy’s face is dirty as could be, covered in dirt and wet tears, smudged like a toddler’s makeup around his eyes. 

“What happened to you?” he chokes, “What happened to my brother?” 

_ It’s alright to scream, I’m screaming too _

Tubbo is on the stand now, speaking some set of meaningless hollow drawls, attempting to pacify a restless nation.

The only words Wilbur cares to gleam are “happy nation”, which makes him snicker, not with joy, but utter disgust. 

“Answer me, Wilbur.” 

_ Why do you think I do the things I do?  _

“What is there to say, Tommy? “ 

“There’s a fuckin-lot to say!” Tommy yells, throwing one hand away from his sword, “Wilbur we still have a choice, a chance, to fix this all!” 

“No-” Wilbur laughs, “We don’t.  _ We never did!” _

His single chuckle spirals into a cackle; a fit. 

He springs to his feet, leaning over the edge of the tower, dangerously close to tipping off and falling, 

_ For shadows haunted me likes ghosts  _

“Wilbur, just-” Tommy pauses, wiping his face with his sleeve, “Just come home, I miss you.” 

“I’m right here, how could you miss me? You’re the one who’s been leaving me, the one threatening to betray me!” Wilbur’s words are a mix of bitter taunting playfulness and raw anger. They swirl together in a horrible pattern. 

“I miss the _ real you _ , Wilbur! I don’t know who the fuck you are anymore!” 

“This  _ is  _ the real me!” 

_ So I became what I feared the most  _

“And with that-” Tubbo’s jaunty tone cuts through the pair’s conversation, “I come to my closing statement-” 

Wilbur steps down from the edge, walking towards Tommy. 

Tommy, stances up, holding his sword strongly. 

“You won’t do it.” Wilbur smiles. He’s right; Tommy can’t kill him. 

“You’re not getting down there, I won’t let you.” 

“ _ Oh, Tommy _ ,” Wilbur grabs the boy’s chin lightly, leaning in close, “ _ I hope you set your spawn. _ ”

He shoves the boy against his chest, through the door, down the inside of the tower. 

He screams, sword slipping from his fingertips as he soars downwards. 

The teen’s screams suddenly cut out with a horrible  _ crunch _ . 

**TommyInnit hit the ground too hard.**

Wilbur slides down the ladder, mindlessly picking the grime under his nails; as if he didn’t just kill his younger brother. 

_ I conduct fear like electricity  _

_ A man-made monstrosity  _

He lands roughly, stomping off immediately. 

He strides out of the building, and through the fields. 

There aren’t any guards at the function, everyone is on the lookout tonight; someone tipped off Pogtopia’s planned crashing. 

Quackity only spots him when he’s storming up the stairs to the stage. 

“Hey! Hey you can’t be here!” 

Wilbur flicks out his crossbow, holding it in one hand, staring blankly at the man before him. 

“Woah, woah, h-hey, there’s no need for that-” 

Everyone’s aware of the man’s presence now. 

He walks up to the stand, holding the crossbow on anyone who budges on the stage. 

George attempts a move, only to be shot in the chest. 

He falls back against Quackity. 

Wilbur stands over a cowering Tubbo. 

“W-Wilbur! You made it!” he cheers quietly. Wilbur shoves him to the ground, taking his place in front of the microphone. 

_ Don’t turn out the light, kiss yourself goodnight  _

Wilbur hides his crossbow away, holding up his lighter instead. 

“Hello ladies and gentlemen of Manberg!” he cheerfully calls out, smiling, eyes dead, “I hope you’re enjoying your independence festival!” 

He meets Niki’s eyes in the audience. 

She’s crying, just as he thought she’d be doing. 

So much for being on  _ ‘his side’ _ ; she’s doubted his plan; no ally would do that. 

“I simply would like to announce,” Wilbur flicks the lighter on, “Manberg, no, L’Manberg is  _ mine _ , it always has been,  _ and it always will be _ .” 

Fundy stares into Wilbur’s eyes. 

Wilbut smiles, poison dripping from his grin. 

“If I can’t have it, nobody can.” 

Tubbo scoots away, still at Wilbur’s heel. 

“I’ve destroyed all your spawns-” screams in the crowd, Wilbur sees Eret begin to run, “Goodbye everyone!” 

Wilbur erupts into manic laughter, as he drops the lighter from his hand. 

It falls in slow motion, hitting the ground, immediately igniting the TNT hidden beneath the grass. 

Wilbur’s sickening laughter seems to be a song to the destruction that plays around him. 

Screams and cries; L’Manberg was no longer an unfinished symphony, it had dying voices to finish it off. 

Death messages fill his vision: 

**The_Eret blew up.**

**Nihachu blew up.**

**ItsFundy blew up.**

**jschlatt blew up.**

**Tubbo_ blew up.**

**Quackity blew up.**

**GeorgeNotFound blew up.**

The list went on, obscuring Wilbur’s vision in a frenzy of blurry words.

Wilbur laughs himself to tears, as he feels the TNT erupt around him, blowing him to bits. 

He watches the stage give out beneath him, before he jolts up in bed, sweating. 

The explosions still boom in the distance. 

Wilbur smiles, hunched up in bed. 

He did it. 

Tommy sits in the corner of their tiny room-base, huddled and sobbing. 

_ ‘Cause there’s a killer, and he’s coming after you  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually had a plan for an anti-hero/villain wilbur au a while ago, but seeing as how it became canon, hell with it, here's some angsty writing!  
> song is Killer by The Hoosiers  
> \--  
> kudos and comments always appreciated :]


	3. when you die [Tommy]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Traitor tommy has been sitting in my brain for a long LONG time. October actually, is when i thought it’d be something cool to write.  
> I was originally just going to replace eret with tommy in the button scene and change motivations, but with the upcoming war on the smp, the time seems right and all the puzzle pieces finally all fell into place ;)
> 
> this is a little (?) rushed, as i wanted to get it out before the war tmmrw lol   
> -  
> Comments and Kudos Appreciated!

Wilbur had never seen Tommy’s smile look like this. 

His usual smile, that one of joy and genuine kindness, had a softness to it. His lips weren’t pulled as tight as they were now, and his eyes always swam with joyful warmth. 

None of that was here now. 

Tommy’s smiling, that much is true, but there’s no kindness nor warmth behind it. 

Wilbur kneels on the ground, Tommy’s sword at his Adam’s apple. “Tommy-”

“Shut it, Soot.” Schlatt is standing by Tommy’s side; a spot Wilbur used to occupy. 

“Listen, Wilbur-” Tommy’s head lulls to the side, a satisfied glaze settling over his eyes, “I’m tired, alright?” 

_ What? _

The cool diamond sword presses against Wilbur’s throat; he chokes out a tiny bit, some kind of form of silent protest. 

“Listen, I know you’ve been betrayed, but you’ve been acting like it’s  _ only you _ . I’ve been here the  _ whole time _ . I was there for you when people threw you away, only for you to  _ throw me away _ .”

“Tommy, I-I’m sorry!” 

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” Tommy’s laughs, it’s a genuine snarl, “This is a ploy to save your life. Wil, I’m not evil enough to destroy your spawn, unlike you, you’d do that, and I’ll never stoop down to your level. You’ll respawn Wilbur.” 

_ Fuck respawning, death still hurt every time; it was never immediate.  _

Wilbur clenches his teeth, trying to bite back tears. His tied hands shuffle behind his back subconsciously, yearning to wipe away the salt that pour down his cheeks. 

_ How did this all go so wrong?  _

“Any last words? We’ve secured your spawn, you won’t be getting out anytime soon.” 

Wilbur scrunches his eyes shut, “ _ Why? _ ”

“ _ Why _ ?” Tommy derides, letting his sword lower to his side, “Are you really that oblivious, Wilbur?” 

“Am I? Why, why would you betray us-Tubbo, Niki,  _ me _ ?” 

“Do you remember what you said to me the day we made L’Manberg, Wilbur?” 

Wilbur slowly shakes his head, as Tommy brings his sword back up to the brunet’s throat. 

“You told me that our new nation would not be built on hatred-” 

“It’s not-” 

“ _ Shut up! _ ” Tommy presses the sword deep into Wilbur's throat. He chokes as Tommy draws a smidgen of blood, “You said no weapons or armour, we were meant to be  _ peaceful _ .” 

The blond pauses, out of breath from his tangent. He takes a deep breath, lessening the push against Wilbur’s neck. 

“We were meant to stick together, and rule kindly, but I should’ve known it wouldn’t last. You pushed me around since day one Wilbur, and it’s your turn now.” 

“Think of Tubbo!” Wilbur pleads, hair falling into his face, obscuring the scowling face of his past-ally. 

“What about him? You think he won’t agree with me? You destroyed L’Manberg Wilbur, no one’s on your side now.” 

“B-But-”

“There’s nothing left to say, Big Man.” Tommy moves the sword away from Wilbur, “You said I was never gonna be president, remember that?” 

Wilbur nods. 

“You’re right. I’m never gonna be president, but I’m gonna be damn good emperor.” 

The force is warm at first, before the coolness of the sword in Wilbur’s gut sets in. Tommy slowly draws it out of his stomach, flicking the blood off mindlessly. 

Wilbur chokes out, falling to his side, unable to get up. 

_ “Tommy…” _

“Make sure dies, Schlatt.” Tommy turns his back to the fallen ruler, as Schlatt takes up his view. 

Thoughts race through Wilbur’s panicked dying mind, all too jumbled to string out a last sentence. 

All he can do is cough as the blood clots up in the back of this throat.

He can already feel his legs dissolving off into the void, rebuilding at his spawn point. 

_ His right hand man.  _

_ His right hand man…. _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading the first of many au ideas i had! i came up with the traitor fundy au a lil while ago and seeing it become partially canon through the election is,,,,a surprise for sure lol  
> shoutout to the super talented @Subl1m1nal btw! their idea of "voiding" was super cool so i thought i'd use it but add my own twist, which will become more obvious in later installments


End file.
